Harvey Porter Does Dallas (9 page)

Carmelita peered into the dark shaft. “It
is
a secret chamber, Harvey! It really is.”

Harvey shrugged. “It seems to make you happy, so let's go ahead and call it that.” Then he said, “It's gonna be hard to find the bottom. Later on, all this window light will help us see better. Our eyes will get used to it.”

“You're thinking of going
down there
, Harvey?”

He was still on his knees, peering down into the dark chamber. “What I gotta do is find out if there's a floor down there. Otherwise, this could be a shaft all the way down to first floor. I don't mind a little risk, but I don't want to end up in the horse pistol.”

“Please, Harvey. Whatever you're thinking of doing, please be careful.”

“Don't worry. I'm going to hang down from the edge and feel around with my feet for a floor or something to stand on. I'll basically be hanging on with my fingertips, so if there's nothin' solid down there I might need your help to get back out.”

“Of course I'll help you but you have to promise to be careful.”

“I already did,” said Harvey, climbing inside. He allowed himself to hang free, with his fingertips clutching the floorboards and his arms fully extended. It was very hard to try to hang like this and try to do something more. He felt around with his feet but didn't touch anything. However, his eyes were growing accustomed to the light, which worked its way down from the grimy windows. He looked down. Just to his right he saw what looked like a box.

He moved slowly to his right, moving his fingers inch by inch.

“Be careful, Harvey!”

He just grunted. His arms were getting very tired. Inching to his right, he felt his foot touch a large box. He kicked it—it was solid and heavy.
That means there's gotta be a floor under these boxes
, he thought. He let himself drop to land on the box, scrambling to be sure he didn't fall over its edge. From the squatting position, he could see other boxes, a few stacked on top of others. He kicked some of them. They too had something heavy inside them.

“Are you okay, Harvey?” Carmelita hollered down.

“Yeah, I'm fine. There's about 6 heavy boxes down here.” As his eyes continued to adjust to the light, he could make out the room, which had a wooden floor. It was a small room, about the size of BoBo's walk-in closet. He stepped on the floor; it felt solid. Old neglected wood floorboards, but solid.

“Hey Carmelita,” he called up. “We're good to go here. I'll help you down.”

“You expect me to come down too?”

“Yeah, sure. This could be the best part of the adventure; I wouldn't want you to miss out.”

“But Harvey, I'm wearing a dress!”

“Yeah? So?”

“You'll be able to look up my skirt when you're helping me down.”

“Are you wearing underpants?”

“Of course I'm wearing underpants, what kind of a question is
that
?”

“Well then you're okay. Besides, my eyes aren't completely adjusted yet.”

“Do you promise not to look up, Harvey?”

“No.”

“Oh what's the difference? Here I come.”

Harvey helped her down, getting her under the armpits, and then was able to lower her to the floor. “God it stinks down here,” she said. “It's stale and super rank.”

“Yeah, but what can we expect? How many years has this place been shut up?”

“That's another thing. It's really hot and stuffy down here.”

“Stale, stinks, hot and stuffy. But don't worry, we won't be in here for very long.”

“What is this place?” Carmelita asked. “Why is it even here at all?”

“You tell me.” He was opening some of the boxes, which smelled rank and moldy, were very stale indeed. Most of them had books inside. Textbooks. “Somebody had to put these down here. Who?”

“I have no idea.”

Harvey snapped his fingers and smiled. “I bet it was Oswald. He wanted a secret hideout. He was probably hidin' out in here when he was supposed to be workin'.”

Carmelita had no response.

“Or—or,” said Harvey. He felt the light bulb go on in his head. “What if this is the place where he hid out after he wasted the president?”

“Afraid not, Harvey.”

“What're you sayin'?”

“Oswald got rid of his rifle, then just walked down all the stairs to the first floor lobby. There were a few cops down there already, but Oswald's co-workers vouched for him, so he just went straight out the front door, slick and clean.”

“How do you know so much?” Sometimes her brains intimidated Harvey.

“Because I live in Dallas, I went three years to regular high school, I read my textbooks and,” she said while putting her face up close to Harvey's, “
I went to class
.”

Harvey might have been annoyed by how smart she was. On the other hand,
smart women are better than dumb women
.

“I still think he had a lot to do with this place. Hidin' out, loafin' from work, shit like that. Who else would be weird enough?”

“You've got a point there,” Carmelita admitted.

Little by little when their eyes were adjusted to the available light, they began to see the size of the room and the junk that was down there. Harvey felt his way around the walls and said, “Just like I thought. No bigger'n Bobo's closet.”

“Who's
BoBo
?”

“It's from a different life. Not interesting.”

There wasn't much to see in the “hidden chamber.” Some paper clips, a small plastic squirt gun, an old pair of dirty white socks, and in the corner some old, yellowed newspapers. Some of the pages had tight little wrinkles in them. Funny looking wrinkles.

Harvey checked every box, and they were all the same. Full of books—hardbacks—so they were heavy. All the books looked the same too. Harvey took one out and held it to the shaft of light which came from the open trapdoor. They had a dark blue cover and a title which read,
A History of Texas Crime and Punishment
. “You know what? Mrs. Bert might like a few copies of this.”

Carmelita had her hands on her hips. “We are not taking any books out of here. If we show them to Mrs. Bert she'll know we were on sixth floor.”

She was making sense. “Okay, Harvey said. “At least we know where they are.” He started moving the book boxes until they formed a kind of platform straight down from the center of the trapdoor. “I can just see Oswald hangin' out down here, shootin' his squirt gun and floggin his log.”

“That's enough; you can stop right there.”

“I was gonna.” Then Harvey spied it in the far corner. It was where one of the boxes had been. He went and picked it up. It was a can, and when he got it under the better light, he could see it was an empty tennis ball can. It said
Wilson
on the side. He removed its plastic cap, still tight in its place, and began feeling around inside. There were papers inside. His heart began to beat a little faster. Maybe they had actually found something!

He put the cap back on, then tossed the can up through the trapdoor. It landed on the floor with a dull thud.

“What'd you do that for?” Carmelita demanded.

“There's papers inside. I want to see what they are. Can't do it down here, can I?”

“I think we should get back out of here.”

“Okay by me,” said Harvey. “Now it's easier, because we've got a good platform. Go ahead, I'll push you up by your feet when you get your head and arms out.”

“Do you promise not to look up?”

“No.”

“Okay then,” said Carmelita in a stern tone of voice. “You go first. You can pull me out by my arms.”

“Okay, whatever.” Harvey stood on the platform, gave a big jump, and landed with his head and arms outside. From then on, it only took a little wriggling, and he was out.

Carmelita's arms reached high enough that her hands and elbows were higher than trapdoor level. She didn't weigh much—it was easy to pull her up and out. “God, I can't believe how much better this feels. It was so
gross
down there!”

“I think we covered that before,” said Harvey. He was sitting on the floor and opening the tennis ball can. It turned out there was only one sheet of paper inside, legal pad paper, with writing on the front and back. It was like a list. Carmelita read it at the same time he did.

The list, written in sloppy cursive, went like this:

Willing Street

San Saba Street

Benbrook

East 179th Street

French Street

Exchange Place

Collinswood Street

Yokosuka

Klaus Kirki

Minsk

1501 W. 7th Street

2703 Mercedes Street

214 W. Neely Street

4905 Magazine Street-

“What's this mean?” asked Carmelita.

“Don't ask me, I'm clueless. Unless it's some kind of a hit list.”

“A hit list?”

“Yeah. Maybe some guy who was deep into armed robbery was writing places he wanted to hit. Like banks, liquor stores, those kind of places.”

“Or,” suggested Carmelita, “places he'd
already
hit.”

“That's a good thought too,” agreed Harvey.

“What's it say on the back?” she asked.

Harvey turned it over. The paper was in good condition considering how many years it might have been down there.
That's because it was kept sealed in the can
, he thought.

On the back were two brief sentences, printed, and side by side.

It's safe. It's in the bank
.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“What am I, a psychic? How am I s'posed to know?”

“Well, let's say we're right, the list on the front is businesses and banks and liquor stores he was going to rob. Maybe he meant to leave a message to some
compadre
about a bank account.”

Harvey sighed and put his head on his knees. “Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. We aren't gonna figure it out today, that's for sure. I say we go back downstairs.”

“Shouldn't we close the trapdoor?”

“Nah. When workers come up here to get this place ready for the public, they can take out the books if they want. They can nail it down permanent if they want.”

He started down the stairs, carrying his tennis ball can, with Carmelita close behind. He cracked the door just a little to see if the coast was clear. It was. “We're good to go,” he whispered. “Hurry on out.”

She stepped down to join him in the hallway. She took about three quick breaths. Harvey closed the door quietly.

“Shouldn't we lock it?” she asked.

“I can't
lock
it, I've only got a paper clip. All I can do is
unlock
it.

They walked quietly but swiftly down the hall. Carmelita took three deep breaths. She began to feel the relaxation creep into her bones. She pointed to the tennis ball can. “Are you going to take that down to your hutch?”

“Sure. What else?”

“You better have a good lock.”

“I've got a stone-ground lock,” Harvey replied. “You couldn't bust it open with a deer rifle. And I've got the only key.”

When they reached third floor, Carmelita said, “This is where we part. I'm heading straight for the shower.”

“I might do the same myself.” Harvey answered. He went into 3B and opened his hutch. The pug-ugly, blocky white bread was in his bed, as usual. When he wasn't reading comic books he was sleeping.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked.

“Let's pretend it's any of your business.” Harvey put it in the lowest corner of his hutch, next to his nine millimeter. He quickly covered them up with his chamois.

He locked his lock, then went to stand at the end of Pug-ugly's bed. He was reading a
Green Lantern
comic. Harvey kicked his bed. Hard. The boy dropped his comic and said to Harvey, “What the hell.…”

“What's your name, white bread?”

“Jesse Stonecipher,” came the answer.

“Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to. Now just sit up.” Stonecipher did as he was told. “Now what?”

“Now I want you to listen to me real careful, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. I don't think I like you. You're lazy and boring. And I know I don't like it when people ask me personal questions.”

“Okay then.”

“Are we clear?”

Harvey watched Jesse's Adam's apple bounce. “We're clear,” he said.

11. CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS

Harvey actually
liked
Mrs. Bert's sociology class. It was the first time he could ever remember liking a class in a school. You could chew all the gum you wanted, and even a few mild swear words were allowed in class discussion. You couldn't use the really heavyweight
obscene
words, though.

Harvey had developed a friendship with Victor Vice, the kid who sat beside him in the next row. He was real easygoing and real smart. Harvey couldn't help wondering what happened to put him in the SAS.

Mrs. Bert called the class to order. “How's the Liddy book coming?” she asked. Most of the class mumbled something like “okay,” or “it's all right.” Harvey resisted the urge to tell her he knew almost all the techniques Liddy described, but he loved the stories in the book.

“What I'm going to do today,” said Mrs. Bert, “is ask you a little bit about your criminal background. I know it seems personal, but I need to know about any criminal activity in your past so we have a better view of where we stand and where we should head. Okay?”

“Sure,” most of the kids said, because they knew it could be a chance to brag about their past. Harvey just said, “Yeah, that's cool.”